


moving to neptune

by EJ (girlwitham4carbine)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 04:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4593051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlwitham4carbine/pseuds/EJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>' Wading through the water, wading through the hurt '<br/>- "Moving to Neptune" by Cruisr</p><p>Drabbles, unfinished AUs, and lost-but-found fics I've never posted. Will update tags as I go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. joelay - "because i could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me" au

**Author's Note:**

> "Based on the poem of the same name and a prompt from awhile back about Death’s memories"  
> lol wtf is this  
> i don't even remember writing this, but my notes say "i had a lot of fun with this!" so... lol ok here it is

His black carriage slowed in front of Ray’s small house surrounded by the shade of the tall oak trees, wheels crunching against the road underneath as they passed. He slowly stepped off of the driver’s perch, using it as balance as his dark leather shoes met the dusty dirt. His companion remained in the back, resting his head on the raised side panel of the vehicle. He let the other be, only speaking a few instructions and reminders for their task and receiving a small nod in return. He finally turned around, looking down the road opposite the way He came and around at the forest of wide trunks and fallen leaves.

Ray had been sitting on his porch, listening to the small creaks in the wood and watching the stranger come into view. He knew exactly who the man was, and really, he should have been scared shitless of Him. The man was Death (Lord Death, the Grim Reaper, the Angel of Death - he had many names from over the millennia). But he felt no fear, simply.. acceptance? He wasn’t sure, deciding to watch the man to see what he would do next.

The man’s eyes finally fell upon Ray, who was all but curled into himself, legs resting against his chest and chin perched on his knees. For a moment, He thought he was terrified. But those bright chocolate eyes showed nothing of the sort; in fact, it looked like a childish curiosity. The man’s thick eyebrows were raised slightly above his head and his mouth curved downwards, not quite enough to be a frown but nowhere near a smile. He decided to take a step forward and enter the walkway to the small house, but the other’s voice made him stop short.

“I know who you are. You’re Death.”

Ray spoke first, his even tone enough to convince Him that he had not one ounce of fear in his body. The Puerto Rican let the words settle around them, before He nodded, wispy hair moving slightly across his shoulders. At that gesture, Ray stood, letting out a small breath when he became fully upright again. He swayed slightly with the wind, but remained rooted to his spot on the landing of the porch, pausing before asking another question.

“Who is it you’ve come for?”

The man in black almost let out a small scoff. They always ask that, He thought with chagrin. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, and He tried to reply with as little annoyance in His voice as possible.

“You should know the answer to that question, Ray.”

The tanned man’s eyes widened in surprise, instantly coming under control a few seconds later. His gaze lowered to the ground and a hint of a bittersweet smile fell upon his face.

“Yeah.. I just had that small bit of hope left that I didn’t.”

“Everyone does.”

The young man finally descended the rest of the steps, pausing once again in front of the escort. He was a lot taller than Ray, and His hair played against the wind; dark, wispy and wild. His jaw was strong, and His posture showed stability. But at the same time, the man simply looked dead. He was pale, no color to His cheeks and hair thin and broken despite its liveliness upon His head. His eyes didn’t have a spark in them, surrounded by deep dark bags and sunken. His black clothes, a tailored suit, did a lot to hide his general untidiness, but now that Ray was up close, he could see the wrinkled fabric and the patches eaten away by moths. Death could only frown as Ray stared. 

He motioned back towards his buggy, and the two made their way there, closing the flimsy house gate behind them. Death kindly opened the door for him, taking a small bow as Ray clambered in. Sitting on the left side of the back seat, with elbows resting against the driver’s perch, was a man with deep auburn hair and a beard that could rival that of St. Nicholas. He wore an all black suit just like Death, and as he turned to face the two approaching, Ray could see the large septum ring that reflected the rare glint of sunlight. Despite the piercing, the man’s face didn’t look threatening. He didn’t smile, merely watching the two get situated in the carriage.

“That is Immortality. He won’t speak to you, so don’t try to make friends with the strange bearded man in the back seat.”

The man dubbed Immortality let out the smallest of breaths at that, turning his eyes to stare at the back of Death’s head. He had a smile on his face, but it felt distant, tired. Ray suddenly felt drained, and lazily perused the black leather with his fingers. The carriage drove slowly, moving with no haste or hurry. The passengers remained silent, relishing in the sounds of the old wooden wheels and the forest around them.

After what felt like hours, they came upon a small clearing, a plain of grass with a multitude of wildflowers not even Ray knew all the names of. Plotted right in the middle of the grass was a small white school building, the laughter and voices of children wafting through the air as they played among the flowers and made Rings of Rosy. It reminded Ray of his childhood, watching the other children play from the shade of the schoolhouse, too frail to join his classmates in even the simplest of games. It was a bittersweet memory, one that made Ray turn his head away from the sight, back towards the front and back towards Death.

Night began to fall not long after they passed the large field. The sun was setting in the West, the carriage’s left. Ray stared at the descending orb for awhile, watching the colors blend together like watercolors on plain parchment. The yellows and oranges stopped being so vibrant as the purples and pinks started to usher in the dark backdrop of night. When it finally disappeared under the horizon, a silence unlike that of the previous day fell upon them. The wind began to howl, and Ray finally realized how cold he was. He only wore thin shorts and a light shirt, much more suited for sleep and not a long drive as this one. Ray shivered, wrapping his arms around himself and sinking back into the upholstery of the seat. Immortality glanced over, acknowledging the passenger next to him. But He still refused to speak, and the silence began to settle in their very cores.

The chirps of the crickets and the few lightning bugs brave enough to fight the weather started some time after darkness had fallen. Up ahead a-ways on the road, Ray saw the glow of a lantern casting deep shadows across the trunks of the scarce trees. As they moved closer, inch by inch, the light got brighter and it looked like it was dancing, welcoming the carriage and its guests. Past the wide figure of their driver, Ray could see the horses that pulled the large carriage; they had no skin, no muscle, merely bone. Their cloaks remained, stark against the white of their skulls and vertebrae. Ray could only try to swallow the lump in his throat.

They finally began to slow before a swelling on the ground, a battered mailbox right next to it and a billowing smoke stack poking its head only a foot above the dirt. There was a wooden door on the top of the house in the ground, carvings and inscriptions too faded and foreign for Ray to have any hopes of reading it.

“This is it.”

This felt strange. Ray didn’t want to part like this, not saying a world and spending eternity in this humble house six feet under.

So he spoke.

“Before I go, can I ask you a question?”

Death was very much used to questions like these. “What comes after?” or “Is there a God? A heaven?” were the most common, the rarer ones fading into his already faulty memory. He would allow the kid some curiosity, after all, he hardly looked a day older than 18 if Death had to guess. Much too young to die at any rate.

“Sure, ask away.”

“What do you remember?”

The horses let out cries as they came to a thudding halt, spaces between their bones shining in the moonlight. Death did not turn around, all movements as stilled as the carriage itself.

“I..” He started, before setting down the reins and turning slightly to more face the young man behind him. He started anew. “I remember my name. And my family, my hometown, who I first kissed, who broke my heart, who killed me.”

“But I also remember the man who drank so much his liver gave out. And the man whose oven accidentally set his house on fire. And the girl who jumped out of her window because she was being chased by debt collectors. And the man who worked so hard he didn’t know he was walking right into a building sight (he thought it was his home, you see). And the boy who slipped and fell in an icy river. And the man who died before he could get on the boat to meet his future wife. And the girl who had a heart problem since birth. I’ve met so many people, heard so many stories, and many of them have no one in this world anymore to remember them. So I hold on to those memories, I take that burden of remembrance. So what about you? Why should I remember yours?”

“There’s no reason for you to. I lived as I died, quietly and weak.”

“No, there is a reason. You were the person who asked me what I remembered.”

“And you’re the person I want to remember Me.”

“Tell me, what was your name, kind Death?”

“It was Joel.”

“Joel huh? Yeah, I think I can remember that. But I think its time for me to go; our chaperon is giving me the evil eye.”

“I guess it is.”

“I might visit, tell you more of what I remember. If that’s okay.”

“I’d like that.”


	2. joelay - flower children au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In the center of one's chest, after their breathing stills and their heart gives its final beat, a flower blooms. Sometimes, it is small, only a bead against the skin, and others, it is as wide as their frame."
> 
> Drabbles, unfinished AUs, and lost-but-found fics I've never posted. Will update tags as I go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Based off a story I read in Rising Stars of Manga: UK and Ireland Edition. The time period is kind of semi-modern, and it will make sense as you read."  
> again, don't remember touching this with a 6 foot pole, but the manga is good af.

> What's in a name? that which we call a rose
> 
> By any other name would smell as sweet
> 
> -William Shakespeare

A flower is said to have more meaning beyond the color of its petals and its outward beauty. Those as pure as the white lily can represent death, and those as simple as the rose can mean so much more than just undying love. A name is not what makes the flower beautiful, but what it symbolizes. The same goes for humans. A soul is not defined by the name that it is given, but by the substance within it.

Flowers and souls have always been deeply connected. One's favorite flower isn't only decided by its looks, but by the connection it stirs within one's soul. For those whose souls are strong, whose will to live far extends past their earthly life, a flower is waiting to bloom. These are the Flowers of Soul.

In the center of one's chest, after their breathing stills and their heart gives its final beat, a flower blooms. Sometimes, it is small, only a bead against the skin, and others, it is as wide as their frame. They never wilt unless buried, and families of the deceased may choose to keep the flower in honor of their memory. If the flower remains with person as they enter the grave, the soul within encased within the flower is sent back into the world to be reborn, and the cycle continues like this.

Ray had always loved flowers, but he especially loved roses.

They bought a little house in a little valley, surrounded by rose bushes and wildflowers and grass so green it looked artificial. One would never have thought this peaceful, windy village was in the middle of Texas, only about an hour bus ride outside of Austin. It looked like it was straight out of a children's picture book, buildings a light beige with clotheslines swaying in the wind, and the occasional tumble of a car passing through.

Ray and Joel fell in love with it instantly.

Joel had been born in Austin, the heat of the asphalt more familiar to his feet than his own shoes. He always had a penchant for arithmetic, landing a job as an accountant for the local newspaper, Austin American Statesman. He had been working there for nearly a decade, nearing 40 years old. He had a few close friends, never settling down to find a spouse and start a family. He lived in a shoddy apartment less than a mile from his office, off the main road in a fairly quiet section of town. It wasn't much, and it let him walk to and from work without much trouble. He didn't tire of the bustle of the city, only grew bored with it, and it lost much of its charm after he turned 30.

Ray had been born in New York; a city that many sacrifice limbs to reach, his life had simply began. His parents owned a general store, selling anything from light bulbs to letterhead, radio to flowers. They decided to move when he was only 16, taking the long journey down to Austin by train after selling the plot of land Ray had known for his whole life. They set up again, slowly but steadily, on a street off the main road in a fairly quiet section of town. It wasn't much, but it was perfect for the small family. Austin was a different kind of city than Ray was used to, but it had its unique charm.

Joel would pass the shop by every morning on the way to work, while Ray was sweeping off the steps and turning the CLOSED sign to OPEN. 4 years passed by, and Joel found his way inside the small store one summer day, never having noticed the stone steps that he glided past with only work on his mind. He was greeted by chime of a bell and the blinding smile from the young man with the thick framed glasses behind the counter. The rest faded into history.

They never married, not because of the law or fear of how other's would view them, but because they didn't need to. Their love for one another didn't need to be defined by pieces of metal around their fingers. Joel had proposed with two red roses, stems intertwined and matching ribbon flowing from them. Ray knew what it meant immediately, and jumped into the other's arms, warm tears stinging against Joel's shoulder. It wasn't a question that lasted until death forced them to part, but a question of eternity. They moved shortly after this, bidding Ray's parents goodbye with promises of postcards and visits. Ray set up an offshoot of his parent's store in the small market in the village, and Joel continued at the newspaper, taking the train that ran by the village to the city every weekday before the sun fully awoke.

They had heard the rumors for years. Even Ray, who was only a small child when the experimenting had begun, had heard of the flower children. Children were being created from plant DNA in laboratories all over the country, mimicking human-like qualities and even unique personalities. Not only were regular flowers used, but in a few cases, flowers of soul. Many didn't approve, vocally condemning the experiments and how they go against the laws of nature, while others praised it, those unable to have children or those banned from adopting their own. Ray and Joel had always wanted children, to be able to share in something bigger than themselves. They didn't want to try the dubious process, no matter how much Ray had a love for flowers, so they pushed those feelings to the back of their minds, being content with simply having one another. (They would eventually settle for a stray cat that came by for dinner, which Ray lovingly named Percival).

It happens out of the blue, on one of the few days Joel is off work. Ray had been coughing all day, insisting it was because of dust. After a particularly violent wretch sends him falling into the couch with his hand covering his mouth, Joel goes to him immediately, rubbing his back in soothing circles. When he removes his hand, he finds blood, and more drops begin to fall from his lips.

It keeps him in bed for the week, and he feels like death. The coughs don't stop, and he loses all sense of an appetite. Refusing to leave his side, Joel phones in to the office and dives into his seemingly infinite amount of leave and takes off. Ray insists he's alright and tries to dodge Joel throughout the days to check the stock and call any customers who had orders. He never manages more than a few minutes before he's getting ushered back into bed. By next week, he's back to normal, no longer coughing or failing to hold down food. Joel is relieved and they both return to work, falling back into routine like there was never a misstep.

About a month later, it happens again. It takes him longer to recover, and he no longer tries to get any work done, too tired to even move his muscles. His eyes become bloodshot, skin pale and hair thin. The older man is anxious and exasperated, and Ray has to quietly remind him to eat or else they were both going to starve to death once Joel passes out from hunger. He laughs at that, happy to see he still has some of that sardonic sense of humor left in him. After about a week and a half, he seems to be back to normal again and assures the other that he can walk on his own to the shop the next morning.

When Joel receives a frantic call from a neighbor, saying something about Ray falling and not waking up, he almost loses it. He can't hear anything over the sound of his heart slamming in his chest, and it becomes near impossible to breathe. He manages to board the next train back home, not even bothering to tell his boss as he scrambles out the office to the busy street below. He paces in the aisle the whole ride, curses escaping his mouth and worry pouring off him in waves. He sprints all the way home, the same neighbor pointing to the stairs as he bursts in. He wastes no time, tossing his briefcase to the side and bounding up the creaky steps two at a time. His fingers find the metal of the doorknob and he sees the doctor standing between him and Ray.

"Mr. Heyman."

"Doctor, what's going on?"

He moves him back out in the hall, closing the door behind him before facing the man. He doesn't remember exactly what the doctor said next, only that he heard the words "might not last the night" and that it was something about Ray's heart being enlarged. Joel remembers he found it ironic that Ray, with the biggest heart he'd ever had the privilege of getting to know, was dying because his heart was too big.

Joel sat by him for the rest of the night, watching the last of the sunset fade into the starry night, moonlight flooding through the sheer curtains. They whispered to one another about all the time they shared together, letting the tears fall without abandon when the idea of the future returned.

Ray dies in his sleep peacefully, one hand resting on Joel's head and the other laced between his fingers while he slept lightly at his bedside.

When Joel wakes up, he feels colder than he ever has in his life. The hands that usually brought warmth and comfort were colder than ice. He cried out when he looked up, burying his face back into the comforter. He finally manages to look at his love, who would look like he is sleeping soundly if it weren't for the pale skin and striking cold. He sees a vibrant color in his peripheral, past the tears clouding his vision and casting light into his irises. There is a vibrant rose in the center of his chest, in full bloom and catching the early morning sun. It had what looked like dew drops and spots of pink on its petals. Joel thought back to what Ray had told him about the language of flowers: "Red means love! But not the wishy washy kind, the one deep and full of passion. And even though pink is just a lightish red, it means something completely different. It means gratitude, the strongest 'thank you' anyone can ever offer." A wail bursts from his throat at the memory, and his body shook so violently that he he wasn't sure things would ever be steady again. He realized that he would never hear his voice again, that he would never see his face so full of life and love ever again.

After awhile, as the tremors calm and his tears flow at a slower rate, he carefully takes the rose out, making sure to hold the roots gently. He stands, turning his back on Ray as he looks for a pot and some dirt to put the flower in. Once this is complete, he phones the doctor, informing him that he had passed. He didn't bother to clean the dirt from his fingers.

He takes about a month off of work until he can't take it anymore. The tears had dried up weeks ago but the ache remained. He needed to find a routine to comfort him, and he went back to the only one he was sure he could manage; he eventually realized that he was missing the other half of it, the man waiting for him once he got home. He almost couldn't live in the house anymore, Ray taking the life that seemed to ooze from the walls with him to the grave. But the rose brought some of it back. He put it on a table by the window in the living room, giving it plenty of sunshine and fresh air. He tended and watered it for the next few months, bidding it a small goodbye each time he set out for work and bidding it an "I'm home" when he returned.

One day, a man on the bustling street outside his job gives him a flyer. He doesn't look at it until he gets home, for some reason not having the heart to throw it away. Right at the bottom, it says they accept the flowers of the dead as well. Normally, Joel would simply brush off the idea, but as he leaned back into the couch, he glanced at the rose sitting by the window. It makes him reconsider, the small hope that he can gain back a semblance of all that he's lost back driving his thoughts. He decides to go after work the next day, bringing the flower pot with him.The person in charge, a man by the name of Burns, tells him about the process. Despite its expense, he agrees, mind too clouded at the prospect that 'he's going to come back, he'll really be back' to refuse.

\---

"You understand everything we've told you? Only feed him the appropriate food, and make sure he gets plenty of sun. But his skin will be fragile, so don't get too rough with him."

"Thank you, Dr. Burns."

"Well here we are. Say hello, Ray."

The boy was sitting on the metal hospital bed by the large window that accented the room. As they entered, he turned, thick framed glasses and chocolate brown eyes coming into view. A blinding smile bloomed on his face.

"Hello."

It was as if he'd never left their living room, the house in the valley, or Joel.

 


	3. joellis - cuddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ' Wading through the water, wading through the hurt '  
> \- "Moving to Neptune" by Cruisr
> 
> Drabbles, unfinished AUs, and lost-but-found fics I've never posted. Will update tags as I go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh ho ho i remember this. i wrote this because i finally got to cuddle the bae last semester and was like.   
> holy shit i can't fucking breathe.   
> stop choking me.   
> help.

Cuddling was nice in theory. You and your cuddling partner, usually whoever you're dating at the time (or maybe sometimes that one really touchy friend you had in college who could not keep their hands to themselves during movie night) would curl up on the nearest couch or bed and lounge the day away. You got another person to hold tight against your chest or be held against for a few hours. And maybe some sweet kisses or sweet nap time as an added bonus. 

"Adam, I literally can't breathe. You're fat and I can't breathe." 

Joel and Adam, however, had a hard time seeing what was so great about it. 

" _You're_ fat. Joel, you've been crushing my arm underneath you for the past 10 minutes."

The day had been long and full of tedious technical problems and every voice acting nightmare in the book. Adam was sent scrambling all around Stage 5 for various repairs and server fixes, while Joel was cooped up in the recording booth right from 9 to 5. They all but collapsed onto their bed when they finally made it back to the apartment. Joel would usually spread his entire body across the bed, often forcing Adam to threaten crushing him if he didn't share. He would begrudgingly agree and turn onto his back, scooting himself over and letting the larger man have some room. But tonight, Adam was curled up against the older man's back, his arm thrown over a thin waist and hand clenched tightly in a t-shirt. His other arm was trapped under Joel's shoulder, which was indeed crushing it fairly painfully and making Adam's entire arm tingle. Joel's face was nearly against the wall, and that coupled with Adam's hold around his waist left him feeling slightly choked and unable to breathe without more effort than usual. 

"I still can't breathe Adam." 

"Then get up. It's your turn to cook anyways." 

Joel shifted, his back shoving back against the younger man and moving them from the wall. Adam whined and moved anyways, tightening his hold around the other's waist in retaliation. Joel made an even whinier noise in response and Adam poked his side in a huff. 

"Move your damn arm." 

"Fine, happy?" 

"No."

"Of course you're not."

"Maybe learn to cuddle better and I will be."

("Rude.")


End file.
